


Didn't they tell you that I was a savage

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Freebird - Freeform, M/M, Sam and Steve occasionally nibble on each other, Skinny Werewolf Steve Rogers, Supernatural Nightclub, The oddest Odd Couple you've ever met, Tumblr otpprompt, Vampire Sam Wilson, Werewolf/Vampire AU, the author is a horrible person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-02-26 04:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: Sam Wilson didn’t ask for this shit.Borrowed the theme from the Tumblr otpprompt, “Imagine Person A of your OTP is a vampire and Person B is a werewolf. Their vampire and werewolf friends don’t approve, but A and B fall in love anyway. Since they are unable to turn their love into their own kind, they often bite or feed off the other, usually in the bedroom or while making out. (Bonus points if A and B disliked each other at first.)”





	1. Ungentlemanly Behavior

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from “Needed Me” by Rihanna. 
> 
> Maybe you didn’t ask for this Vampire!Sam story, but you’re _welcome_.

Nothing got blood out of cashmere. _Nothing_. Sam gently daubed at the dark blue sweater, but the brown, shadowy ring of the initial stain remained, and it burned Sam up that he would have to throw out a five-hundred dollar sweater that he wouldn’t be likely to replace.

To the mugger’s credit, he was A-positive, and he obviously ate a lot of iron. Sam’s fangs went through his jugular like butter; he ignored the stench of Axe body spray and drank his fill after he’d pulled a knife on Sam in his carport. Of course the guy had to struggle. Some people had no respect for other people’s clothes, clearly… Blood sprayed from his neck, and of _course_ his hands flew up to fend Sam off, clutching futilely at his windpipe. It was like having a tickle fight with a two-year-old.

Sam wasn’t a neat feeder when he was hungry.

And he made Sam late for work. 

He’d had to change at the last minute, this time selecting a pristine white turtleneck under a wool blazer that emphasized his broad shoulders and trim waist. 

He’d still miss that sweater.

Sam managed to find a parking space in the garage on Nightshade Street and Sixth and he set the alarm with his clicker, glad that the obnoxious red Corvette beside him wasn’t double-parked in the compact section. He headed across the street to the Aerie, noticing that the line was already wrapped around the corner. The crowd was colorful tonight. As he bypassed the velvet ropes and nodded a hello to Piotr, all six and half feet of him, he glanced at the folks in line.

Not many norms. He saw a few glowing red eyes, and he knew that Piotr would have to do some creative crowd control at the end of the night when those guests hovered around the exits for last call. “One last drink” could mean a few punctured jugulars, or a compromised femoral artery or two in the men’s room for those patrons who lacked subtlety. Sam sighed to himself. It was going to be a busy night.

Jubilee rolled her eyes up at him as she stamped a guest’s hand with the glow-in-the-dark ink. “You’re late.”

“Had a little mishap on the way here. Had to change my clothes.”

“That’s a nice blazer,” she allowed. “Can I borrow it?”

“If you take it to the cleaners.”

“Fair enough.”

Sam waded through the crowd toward the DJ booth, where Clint was spinning and Kate was running the light show. The disco ball spun overhead, throwing tiny facets of light like pixie dust over the people on the floor. There weren’t too many out there yet. Patrons hugged the beer, sipping cocktails, some laced with blood. Just another typical night. 

Sam waited for Clint to hand him the headphones and to surrender his seat in the booth. “S’all yours, Wilson. I warmed ‘em up for ya.”

Clint smelled like hair gel and too much Old Spice, as well as that faint, musky lycan tang. He clapped Sam on the shoulder. “This is nice,” he said, admiring Sam’s jacket. “You’re a little overdressed for this place.”

“Dress for the job you want,” Sam reminded him.

“Eh.” Clint wore ripped up jeans and a long-sleeved black tee that read “Remember when I asked for your opinion? No? Me neither.” Nothing about his outfit met the Aerie’s dress code, but Clint was nonplussed and gave absolutely no shits. He rose and stretched. “Gotta piss,” he announced as he left the booth.

“Not outside!” Kate called after him. “Urinals, Barton!”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he called back.

“That boy has no home training,” Sam murmured beneath the club’s noise.

“You’re going to be too hot in that,” Kate said, nodding at the blazer.

“I don’t sweat anymore,” Sam reminded her. He actually ran cold. Sam could wear a sweater in the middle of July and not release one drop of perspiration. Then again, it wasn’t like he went out in _daylight_. 

“At least you don’t sweat like Clint.” Kate wrinkled her nose in disgust. 

They worked their way through the playlist. Both large, iron-barred birdcages suspended from the ceiling featured go-go dancers dressed in hot pants and corsets. Neither of them had red eyes, telling Sam they snuck a bite to eat before they showed up. Sam sucked his teeth, running the tip of his tongue over his canines. His would-be mugger’s flavor lingered.

Sam sipped a tonic with lime while he spun the records and eventually took off his jacket, not because he was too hot, but because the wool began to itch, and its weight irritated his shoulders, made him feel slightly trapped. The club began to fill close to capacity. Sam noticed more blood feeders - “leeches” was the un-PC term - occupying the bar, and from the booth, he could see a few lycans occupying the bar outside on the patio. Sam couldn’t blame him; sometimes the closeness of so many bodies made him feel stifled, too. The patio had its own light show and generous seating. He saw a few of the lycans, some already manifesting fur around the edges, avoiding the seats closest to the speakers. But then there was Clint, bladder emptied and ready to go, guzzling a can of National Bohemian and dancing _very badly_ now that Sam was back in the booth for the night.

Sam’s shift was running smoothly, so smoothly that when things finally went sideways, it threw him for a loop.

“WHAT’S YOUR DAMAGE, MAN?!”

“Oh, boy,” Kate muttered. “Didn’t even make it to midnight…”

There was a scuffle by the bar; Sam couldn’t see who was causing it because of the crowd pushing themselves into a tight knot around whoever it was. But his ears picked up the gist of it.

“...what’s your deal? Huh? Maybe I was just talking to her and askin’ for her number, asshole!”

“Sure, you were. I heard you and your buddies talking, pal. Miss, I can escort you home, or back to your friends if you tell me where they are.”

_Whoa_. That sounded like Sam needed to get involved. 

“She doesn’t need an escort!”

“Sez you, ya jerk!”

_Sez you?_ Kate’s lips twisted, and Sam raised his eyebrows. Okay. That… was so oldtimey. That voice was rough, pleasantly deep and had a Brooklyn accent. 

“Mind your own business, you little shit!”

“My business is keeping girls from getting jumped in back of the bar by a bunch of vamps after you separated her from her friends and messed with her drink. So, tough shit.”

“Who said we spiked her drink?”

“I can _smell it_ from here.”

Oh, that, Sam couldn’t abide. He handed Kate the headphones. “Here. I need a minute.”

“I’ll watch your jacket, sweetie.”

Sam waded through the crowd, and sure enough, Kitty, the bartender, was holding the drink in question up to the light, swirling the liquid and taking a sniff.

“Little guy’s right,” she told Piotr as he approached, face stern. 

“Shall I take out the trash, Katya?”

The four vamps couldn’t maintain their glamor; their eyes began to glow garnet with obvious hunger, and their fangs extended as they grew more belligerent. “We paid eight bucks to get into this fucking place, man!” said the one in the brown plaid flannel and skinny jeans. The girl they tried to lure was crying, eyeliner smeared under her eyes. Kitty led her away, and on her way, she nodded to Steve.

“We’ll take it from here, Pint-Size.”

“Who are _you_ callin’ Pint-Size?” he demanded to know. Kitty was roughly his height and didn’t weigh more than a buck-twenty, and she rolled her eyes at him as she led the girl toward the pool tables, where it was quieter and so she could call a Lyft.

Working at the Aerie was a piece of cake for Sam. Night job. Nice ambience. Mixed clientele and a “safe space” for the supernaturally afflicted. They let norms in for the novelty it presented them, a chance to bump elbows with the occasional mysterious vamp or friendly lycan and live dangerously. But every now and again, the patrons reminded Sam that good manners didn’t follow some of his peers into the undead life when they rose again. If you were an asshole when you were bitten, chances are you were still an asshole on the other side.

“Are _you_ gonna pay me back the money I spent on her drinks, you little lycan fuck?” The second one, clad in black leather - how cliche, Sam thought as he loomed on the periphery of the bar - shoved Steve, ignoring Piotr’s glare. 

“All I have to do is check my list to get your names,” Piotr reminded them. “And you’ll end up banned for good.”

“Stupid furball,” Brown Flannel growled.

The little guy wasn’t having it. He growled back, impressively in Sam’s opinion, and he bared his own teeth, jagged and featuring canines that gleamed in the low light of the bar. His blue eyes had a slightly golden cast. Amusement mingled with surprise in Sam’s chest. What did Little Man here think he was gonna do against _four_ of them?

“Boys. That’s enough,” Sam told them, using his Sunday-best Dad Voice. “It’s time for you to move along.”

“I can handle this,” Piotr told Sam.

“I was handlin’ it just fine!” snapped the tiny lycan, and Sam was starting to enjoy him, if he was being honest, even though he had to act stern.

“Let Pete take care of it,” Sam suggested.

“What? You’re siding with _this_ creeper?” Brown Flannel sized Sam up. “C’mon, man, you’re supposed to be on _our_ side!”

“Why? He called you out for what you were. You’re not gentlemen, and you’ve got no game. I don’t put up with that in _my_ bar.”

Even though, technically, it wasn’t Sam’s bar, but _still_.

“You’re standing up for him?!”

“Fuckin’ traitor, man!”

And because he didn’t have much concern for his own personal safety, he swung on Sam.

_Why._

Sam feinted out from his swing and let his momentum carry him forward as Sam tripped him sharply. The guy cursed as he fell over a bar stool and faceplanted onto the hardwood floor. Behind him, Piotr rolled his eyes.

“I said I could handle this,” he reminded Sam gently as the other three vamps prepared to fight, unbuttoning shirt cuffs and collars. One of them removed a dangling earring from his ear. The short blond lycan grinned in anticipation.

“Don’t smile,” Sam chided. “You don’t get to smile about this-”

“Sorry!” And with that, Mister Trouble with the big, angelic blue eyes growled at Brown Flannel, right before the guy punched him in the teeth.

Sam _so_ didn’t need this.

FIfteen minutes later, all four of the vamps sat outside in the back of the two patrol cars parked out front. Kitty stood out there, giving the officer her report.

“...these four were making trouble and harrassing this girl. They had bad intentions. I could smell what they added to her drink.”

“Uh… you could smell it?”

“The nose knows,” she boasted. Kitty’s eyes glowed briefly gold, and he nodded in understanding.

“Okay! We’ll take it to the lab anyway, just to make sure it checks out so this young lady can file charged if she wants.”

“Oh, God, I’m so creeped out,” the girl told them, hugging herself. “I think I’m gonna be sick…” Kitty rubbed her back soothingly.

“GInger ale, coming up.”

She sent the girl home with it, in a lidded styrofoam cup with a straw poked into the top, along with her friends who finally showed up.

Sam and the lycan sat inside, where the music still played and the lights still spun around the room, flickering over their skin and hair. Sam nursed a sore jaw and a cut over his brow. And of course, there was blood on his turtleneck, too, but at least that was cotton.

“I don’t want to criticize your good intentions, man,” Sam told him, “but next time, when the huge bouncer that’s built like a grizzly bear says he has it handled, you might want to let him _handle it._ ”

“I had ‘em on the ropes,” the guy told him with a shrug. He held a napkin full of ice to his split, swollen lower lip. 

“Four to one?” Sam looked incredulous. “I want some of whatever you drank tonight that gives you those kind of balls, buddy.”

The guy snickered under his breath. “I’m a lightweight. Not because I can’t tolerate it. I burn it off fast enough, so it’s not worth the money if my buzz is gone before I can even enjoy it. I’m just a cheap ass.”

“Okay. So you’re not drunk, but that still doesn’t explain how you thought you were going to take on four vampires who had a size advantage and four sets of fangs?”

“Didn’t matter _how_ I was gonna take ‘em on. Just that I _had_ to. They were gonna take advantage of that girl. There were _four_ of ‘em. She wouldn’t have made it home.”

He had a point.

The guy’s soft hair was a dark honey blond; his bangs fell over his eyes and he looked completely mussed from the scuffle. He was, however, very cute for a guy who more or less ruined Sam’s night. Kate and Clint resumed their shift in the DJ booth while Sam and his new acquaintance got their bearings.

“Thanks for looking out, and for paying attention,” Sam told him. He reached out and offered him his hand to shake. “I’m Sam.”

“Rogers. Steve Rogers.” His handshake was firm; he had long, cool fingers, surprising Sam a little again. Werewolves tended to run warm, but his guy’s hands were almost as cold as Sam’s. Interesting. “So, you’re not gonna have me arrested, too?”

“For causing a public disturbance? No. Not at all. That fight wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened at this bar. Not even close.” Sam smirked at him. “But I have the feeling I’m gonna have to keep my eye on you, Steve.”

“Oh. Is this where I’m supposed to argue with you? Because I ain’t arguin’ with you, Sam.” Steve’s smile was crooked, and in Sam’s opinion, kind of adorable. “You’re _definitely_ gonna hafta keep an eye on me.”


	2. I Can’t Even, With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Maybe Steve was wearing him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I’m doing with this, other than that I wanted a werewolf Steve/vampire Sam AU where the two of them are snarky and mess around. That’s it. No plot to be found. Just an excuse for nudity and smut and pop culture references. 
> 
> Again, you’re _welcome_.

“Hey. Kitty. C’mere a sec.” Kate furtively waved Kitty over to her end of the bar, leaning conspiratorially over the counter on her elbows. Kitty wiped her hands on her apron, setting down the beer mug she’d been drying with a towel.

“What’s up?”

“I thought we weren’t letting that guy in anymore, after what happened before.” Kate nodded to Steve at the front entrance, where Jubilee was stamping his hand. Kitty smirked at the way that Jubes reached up and pinched his cheek, just to yank his chain, and she heard his laugh. Watched the way he squinted and scrunched his nose a little. If that were her type, Kitty would want him to laugh for her like that, but she preferred the strong, silent, artsy type. What she had with Piotr was pretty solid.

You had to give it to this guy, though, Kitty mused. Steve Rogers was _determined_.

“Nah, he’s good.” Kitty poured Kate a glass of ice water and handed it over. “Ororo said it was okay to let him in, since he wasn’t really the one starting the trouble.”

Kate hummed in agreement over the rim of her glass. “Wonder what kind of trouble he’s planning to start now?”

He was carefully groomed, dressed in a black vest and a pale blue buttondown shirt, with the sleeves rolled up over his elbows. He’d had a recent haircut, ditching the long bangs, and someone taught him about hair product since the last time he showed up. He skipped the dance floor and automatically headed for the DJ booth. Kate grinned as he waded through the crowd.

“He’s stubborn.”

“It’s kinda flattering.”

“Let’s see if he gets any luckier tonight.”

 

Sam pretended that his stomach didn’t do a little flip when he saw Steve in the crowd, on the periphery. The lights inside the club illuminated his shorter, spiked blond hair and fair skin. His eyes were blue and calm; the moon outside was a waning crescent, so his urge to shift was dormant. His choice of outfit was a fortunate one; the clothes loved his slender, rangy frame, making Sam notice the graceful line of his throat, the veins running down his forearms. The slender wrists and narrow waist and hips. 

Okay. _Okay_.

Sam ran through his playlist, popping his hips to it and enjoying the crowd’s enthusiasm. Old school funk night was his favorite night of the week; Sam hadn’t met even _one_ lycan that didn’t lose their mind whenever he played “Atomic Dog.” And who didn’t love George Clinton? Savages, that’s who, if you asked Sam.

Steve watched him as he moved around in the booth. His smile was like sunshine. Steve lived for those dimples and his sculpted cheekbones. And Sam Wilson had the cutest little ears. Those dark eyes twinkled, damn it. They _twinkled_. He noticed the fitted purple buttondown Sam wore, appreciating how it hugged his body, and Steve felt his urges rise in his chest. _Damn, Sam was hot_.

Just when Sam wondered when Steve was going to make his usual move, he lost sight of him, and he felt a frisson of disappointment.

Until he heard his voice behind him. “Why is it every time I see you up here, you look like you wish you were out there?”

Sam chuckled and turned to face him. “I just appreciate good music, man. These are the songs I used to listen to in the basement with my brother, unless he wanted to have company over. Then, he’d just chase me out. I knew that once he turned on Teena Marie, I’d have to get my ass up out the house.”

There. That earned Sam the face-scrunching snicker. Good.

“I am _working_ , y’know.”

“I know. You can keep working. You just looked a little lonely.”

_Had he?_

“Clint’s gonna tell you that you took his spot.” Steve sat on the second stool anyway and thumbed through Sam’s playlist.

“He shouldn’t have gotten up.” Steve smirked. “And I might fight him for it.”

“He’s got a size advantage, buddy.”

“Not where it counts.”

Sam raised his brows, looking impressed by his confidence. Steve sucked his lower lip suggestively.

“What time do you usually leave?”

“After closing. I help the girls lock up and follow Ororo to the bank to drop off the deposit.”

Sam saw the woman of the hour across the room, dancing with her husband T’Challa. T’Challa hadn’t consented for her to turn him, yet, but Ororo told Sam “It’s not completely off the table.” A few years could make a couple more flexible when only one of them was immortal. And Ororo assured him that she wouldn’t move on if she had to live out the rest of her time on earth without him. The earth might as well end first.

“You might not have to follow her tonight,” Steve pointed out.

“Hmmm.” Sam shrugged as he continued his mix. He laid down a fast bass beat over The Time’s “The Walk” that roused the patrons away from their fuzzy navels and pale ales. 

“Just thought I’d throw that out there.”

“Well, it’s out there,” Sam teased. 

“Were you gonna hurry home?”

“No faster than usual.”

“Were you heading home _alone_?”

Sam bit his lip. He turned to Steve, seeing the hopeful look, and he chuckled despite himself.

“You’ve got no game at all.”

“That’s not a problem, is it? Because the thing is, Sam, I don’t like playing games.” Steve rubbed his nape. “I like you.”

“I like that you’re direct, Rogers. In case you haven’t noticed, though, we don’t have a lot in common.”

“I dunno. I think we could find a few things to talk about. We’re both night owls.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but that pried another chuckle out of him.

“And don’t let the fact that you’ve only ever seen me here make you think I’m a party animal. I’m really not. Look… I know I look a little hopeless? I’m not good at this.”

Sam edged a little closer and lightly bumped his elbow against Steve’s. “You’re not _horrible_ at it.”

“If you’re willing to make the time, Wilson, I can tell ya about a few other things I’m not horrible at.” 

*

The past few nights had yielded no success for Steve. Sam was popular at the club, but he didn’t take patrons - or coworkers - home. He wasn’t always checking his phone or making time with anyone out on the patio. He’d dance once in a while on his breaks, but once he finished his tonic with lime, he was right back behind the booth. Steve found that reassuring and frustrating on every level.

So, he’d hauled out the big guns. He let his neighbors, Peggy and Angie, give him a makeover.

“You’ll definitely get his attention, duckie.” Peggy misted him with a little cologne while Angie buffed his fingernails. 

“If you had the same equipment between your legs as English does, here, I’d give you a run for your money.” Angie winked at him, making him blush.

“Thanks for assuring me that I have no chance with you. Always a confidence booster, Ange.”

“Hey, you might have more of a chance with _him_ , now.”

Steve Rogers was always cute on his own merit, anyway. Smart, funny, mellow, and just the right size to wrap your arm around. Peggy and Angie hoped their efforts were rewarded.

Steve wondered if Sam’s affliction was his main reason for going home alone at night… or at dawn, for that matter.

*

 

Sam felt his reserve faltering. Melting.

“I’m gonna regret this,” he muttered under his breath. Steve almost tipped forward off the stool.

“Wait. What?”

“I just so happen to have some free time later tonight, Steve. You can take me out for a drink later, Steve. If that’s what you were planning to ask me at some point?”

Sam felt himself warm as Steve’s expression shifted from incredulity to unrestrained excitement.

“Now, since you’re in my booth, Rogers, do you want to actually request a song?”

“No. Uh. I’m good. Play whatever you want, Sam. Uh. What time are you off, again?”

“Three on the dot. Last call’s at two-thirty.”

“Right. Uh. Okay. I’ll just. I’ll be over there. I’ll let you get back to work.”

He almost collided with Clint, who gave him a mock look of impatience.

“Hey. I’ve got dibs on that stool. And quit flirtin’ with my DJ, pal!”

“Finders, keepers,” Steve shot back, and Sam shook his head, unable to suppress his smile.

Clint adjusted the lights and leaned over to Sam to ask him, “So. Is that gonna be a thing, now? Are you two a thing?”

“No. Oh, no. Not at all. He was just… that was nothing.”

“Nothing, huh?”

“Psssshhhhh…” Sam waved him off and went back to his playlist. 

Jubilee paused alongside his booth as she retrieved another handful of the little plastic bracelets they gave out at the door. “I saw that, Sam Wilson. You _like_ him.”

“Don’t you have work to do, little girl?”

Jubes stuck out her tongue at him and waggled her butt in his direction as she left. 

“We all know you do,” Clint said smugly as he sucked on a red Charms Blow Pop.

*

 

Two-thirty.

Steve materialized near the booth while Piotr and the other bouncers slowly rounded up the stragglers from the patio and the rest rooms. “Last call!” Piotr called out in his booming baritone. “You don’t have to go home, but you have to get the hell out of here!”

“I never should have taught him that line,” Kitty muttered. “He beats it to death.”

“Let him have this, kiddo,” Kate said. “You don’t have to go home and deal with _that_.” She nodded to Clint, who was breathing on a spoon and then proceeded to hang it from his nose. 

“Need any help with anything?” Steve asked Sam.

“Nope.”

“Sam, go ahead and punch your time card,” Ororo told him as she sailed over. She gave Steve’s shoulder a light pat. “Hope you had a nice time here tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Awwwwww.” She patted his cheek and moved off, giving Sam a brief wink as she left. “T’Challa and I are headed to the bank. You can go, Sam.”

Sam’s cheeks burned. “Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

“Behave yourselves,” she called back.

Oh, God, she thought _that_ was necessary. Steve looked like he was biting back a laugh. “Oh, come on,” Sam told him, and he wrapped a protective arm around Steve’s shoulders as they made their way out of the bar, past the stragglers, past Piotr and Kitty and the faint look of surprise they shared.

“There’s not much open for a drink at this hour,” he told Steve. “And I’ve got another three hours before I have to be inside.”

“Can’t remember the last time I took someone out who had a curfew,” Steve joked. Sam tsked, and Steve grinned up at him. “But I know this nice diner? I mean, I know you don’t… eat, per se, but you could still have a cup of coffee?”

“Works for me.” It worked just fine. Better than fine. Alcohol didn’t affect Sam much, unless he drank a lot of it, and if it was spiked with blood. But that wasn’t his scene. Sam liked straightforward, live feeding. He could go about every three days. Sometimes, he found a consenting source. Sometimes, things went down like they did with the asshole who ruined his good sweater. 

It hit Sam that it had been a long time since he’d done this last. This felt like a date.

The fact that he hadn’t removed his arm from around Steve probably had something to do with it, not to mention Steve’s shy confession that “You smell really good, did you know that?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Well. You do. Just. Just thought I’d mention it.”

From a lycan, that was high praise.


	3. Everybody’s Two Cents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody’s got an opinion on Sam and Steve’s new situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I’m even doing with this story. I’m just having fun.
> 
> On a side note, though, my “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” Stucky story has werewolf Steve in it, too, werewolf Sam, and vamp Bucky, if you happen to be interested in that kind of thing. If not, though, and you’re more of a Sam/Steve fan (whoo-hoo!), then read on. I also have a pending fic with supernatural Barbershop Quartet, coming soon.

“Not even _ice cream?_?”

“I was lactose intolerant before I was turned, man,”

“Oh, man. That _sucks._ ”

Sam shrugged in the face of Steve’s pitying look, but he squeezed his hand companionably. “Just as well that I never developed a craving for it, considering.”

“I know, but… it’s _ice cream_ , Sam.”

“You can still eat it,” Sam reminded him.

“It’s not the same if _you_ can’t have any!”

Sam laughed and shook his head. They were out at an evening farmer’s market; the sun had just set, and the sky was darkening from cerulean to cobalt, and lingering steaks of deep pink. Steve was carrying a hawaiian shaved ice mixed with soft serve ice cream and root beer syrup, and he periodically leaned down and lapped at it instead of using the long-handled, red spoon, refusing to act as if he had any home training. Sam didn’t mind a bit; there was something entrancing about watching that tongue of his dart out and lick at the dripping sweet, and the ice chips made his lips look rosy and _very_ tempting.

So. Yeah. _That_ happened. 

Sam Wilson had a jones for Steve Rogers, despite all of the voices in his head chanting that _This can’t possibly work_. But every time Steve said something ridiculous, or laughed that one particular laugh, or gave Sam that goofy look (or the not-so-goofy look that made Sam’s pulse race), well. Reason? Bye-bye. And take your friend common sense with you. Sam still kept his chill, but Steve was wearing him down.

Steve tended to be claustrophobic. He fidgeted through the whole movie when they went to the theater the other night, but Steve tried to be a good sport while they watched the late feature. It was Steve’s turn to pick their next outing, and Sam had no problem with wandering through the crowded stalls and listening to the local musicians as they passed. Sam picked up some fresh basil and a few other herbs and essential oils for his apartment, and he felt a little envious about the steak sandwich Steve inhaled when they stopped for a bite, but overall, it was a successful date. 

Steve had an erratic pulse. Sam wanted to flatter himself that maybe that was the effect _he_ had on Steve, but when he pried, Steve admitted he had arrhythmias when he was a norm, and still had them after he was turned. 

“I thought lycanthropy cured everything,” Sam wondered aloud.

“S’posed to,” Steve agreed, sighing. “I’m kind of a hot mess, Sammy.”

“The shift didn’t take?”

“Not in all the ways that counted. I was talking to my pack’s alpha, Natasha, and she said that my carrier might have been weak. Lucky me.”

“You still shift fully into a wolf, though, right?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re still stronger when you shift?”

“Yeah. But I can still get my ass kicked. _That_ much hasn’t changed.”

“Maybe you’re reluctant,” Sam considered. 

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well… maybe some part of you still hasn’t accepted what you’ve become.”

“Trust me, Sam,” Steve told him, with no shortage of side-eye, “I’ve accepted this. Lock, stock and barrel. Fleas and all. _Literally_.”

“Does it feel natural?”

“It took a while. The first few days were hell. Aw, man… Sam. Everything was too sharp. Too loud. I could smell things no human being needs to know about.” Sam nodded knowingly; his own vampiric faculties were sharper, too, especially his hearing and night vision. He squeezed Steve’s hand again, rubbing his knuckle with his thumb. “I just felt… out of control. Like I was seein’ my life through somebody else’s eyes.”

“God, I hate that,” Sam agreed. “The first time I felt the hunger pangs hit, I thought I was dying _again_.”

“What was it like?”

“Like my insides were boiling. Dizzy. I could hear heartbeats and pulses like midday traffic.”

“Wow. I didn’t… I didn’t know it was the same for you that…”

Steve’s voice trailed off. 

“Do you miss daylight?”

“Every day. And how the sunshine felt on my skin and hair. That first little prickle of warmth. Lying on the couch and feeling rays of it shining over my feet when I’d take a nap. Watching it rise.”

“Wow. I just…”

Steve’s broke off again.

“What?”

“I just wish I could give that back to you.”

“Gonna wave your magic wand, Steven?”

Sam smirked, bringing out those gorgeous cheekbones and cocking one of his brows. Steve felt a twinge of arousal at that look.

“Jerk,” Steve muttered.

“Hey. You mean well.” Sam released his hand and looped an arm around his shoulders instead, tugged him close, and kissed his cheek for the simple reason that he was ridiculously cute. Steve blushed and grinned, ducking his face. Steve ran warm, so it was nice for Sam, naturally coldblooded now, to snuggle up to him. Steve wanted things for Sam that Sam knew were futile to want for himself anymore; he’d accepted that his life - his undead life - wasn’t going to offer the same privileges he’d taken for granted before he was turned. Living the dark could be grim. And lonely.

But, hey. Like Steve said, they were both night owls. 

And when Steve walked into Sam’s life, he brought a little bit of the sunshine in with him.

*

Steve was a regular at the Aerie now, dropping in around the middle of Sam’s shifts. Piotr always just let him in, lowering the rope for him to cut in line, much to the annoyance of the other patrons. But ever since his scuffle that night he and Sam met, Steve stayed out of trouble, unless he saw someone being harrassed (or nearly eaten). Ororo joked that she might hire him as additional security. Steve just treated himself to the occasional screwdriver or cheap beer and spent most of his time in or near the booth, and he waited for Sam out on the patio during his breaks.

Sometimes, Sam dragged Steve out to dance. When it was crowded, and later during the night, so he wouldn’t feel self-conscious. It was disconcerting for Steve to look in the mirror along the wall and to see no one dancing in front of him, but it didn’t matter. Sam was tangible, firm, smelled so good and outshone the glow of the rotating lights. 

Clint and Kate watched them with perpetual smirks. “Ain’t that cute?” Clint remarked as he watched the two of them out on the patio. Steve told Sam something that cracked him up, and he patted Steve’s chest companionably. 

“Shut up. They _are_. Steve’s not too bad.”

“Hey. I’m not throwing shade. It’s just… don’t you wonder how they’re gonna make that work?”

“No.” Kate looked nonplussed. “What’s to wonder? What are you not getting, Barton? It’s not like either one of them’s dating a _norm_.” She pronounced this as though she found that possibility distasteful, perhaps even idiotic.

“I know that.”

“And you love Sam.”

“Shoot, if I was gonna date a vamp, it’d be Sam,” Clint admitted. “Who wouldn’t? Look at him, fer cripe’s sake! But I’m not, and it won’t, because this could go sideways any minute.”

“If you say so.”

“Would you date Sam if he was a lycan?” Clint asked, because he was suddenly curious.

“Eh. Dunno. I’d date him if he was a _girl_ ,” she reminded him.

“Ah. Right.”

*

It wasn’t like Sam’s circle hadn’t weighed in, either.

“He’s so tiny,” Jubilee remarked to Sam one night as they opened the bar.

“Look who’s talking, Half-Pint,” Sam teased.

“Hey!” she yelped. “Don’t go there, buddy. I’m ‘Fun-Sized.’ Learn the difference.”

“I can still tuck both of you into my hip pocket,” Sam said.

“I thought werewolves tended to choose big guys. From strong stock.” She pondered this as she counted the petty cash in the register. “Isn’t that a wolfy thing? They choose, right? It’s not just random?”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“Ask him that for me. But don’t tell him it was me who wanted to know. I don’t want to weird him out.”

“He’s a lycan. I don’t think you _can_ weird him out,” Kitty told her.

“Hey. A little respect,” Sam told her, raising his brows with emphasis. “Think of how you’d feel if I talked about _your_ man like that.”

Kitty sniffed. “Nothing weirds Piotr out after working here as long as he has. Try again, Wilson.”

“Just be nice, please?”

“Cool your jets, Sam. I’m just messing around. I guess… Steve’s just… so pedestrian. And you’re like a Rolls-Royce.”

“That’s… that’s not nice. Let’s revisit what that means,” Sam said. “That means A) not insulting my boyfriend. B) not suggesting that he’s basic. C) not picking on him for his size, when _you’re_ short, too. And D) let’s revisit item A, where you don’t insult my boyfriend.”

“We’re acknowledging he’s your boyfriend, then, huh?” Jubilee wrinkled her nose, extended her fangs, curled her fingers up like claws, making growling noises. Kitty chimed in along with her, howling shrilly until Ororo walked out from around the corner of the kitchen.

“Don’t you two have setup to do?”

Kitty and Jubilee snickered and pretended to be busy. Sam and Ororo shared long-suffering looks.

“I like him. Carry on.” She ducked back into the kitchen to talk to T’Challa about the next supply order.

Once in a while, they yanked Steve’s chain when he came in. And they took note of the fact that he made himself scarce on new moons. It was just too much fun to give Sam a hard time.

Despite that, though, Steve Rogers was wearing them down, too.


	4. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things get a little heated. 
> 
> Sam smiled slowly to himself.
> 
> “What’s that look for?” Clint demanded.
> 
> “Nothing.” Sam refused to admit to him that he hadn’t tried to hide a hickey since he was in _high school_. Yet here he was, a grown ass man, wearing a turtleneck to cover up the previous night’s discretions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Here we go. Supernatural smut, coming up!!!

The first night Sam watched Steve change, it awoke something inside him. 

It took six months of dating before Steve finally shared that part of his life with Sam. One Saturday, while they lounged together on the couch, slumped shoulder to shoulder and holding hands, Steve turned to Sam, shyly, and told him

“Hey. So. Maybe we can take a breather this weekend. I know you were thinking about coming over tomorrow, but-”

“I know what day it is, Rogers.”

“Which means you know what _night_ it is, then. Right?” The television screen threw a faint blue glow over Steve’s fair skin, flickering over his blond hair. 

“Right.”

“Then you know why it might be better to take a raincheck on hanging out.”

“If that’s what you want?”

Sam’s fingers tightened around his. He felt the tension mounting in his boyfriend’s slight frame, in the set of his shoulders and the rough way he swallowed. Steve exhaled an aggrieved sigh.

“We shouldn’t have to have this talk again, Sam.”

“Surprise! We’re having it, buddy boy.”

“Ain’t it gettin’ a little old by now?”

“Is it?” Sam raised his brows at him and shrugged. “Aren’t you glad we can talk about this like a couple of adults? Or, like a twenty-five-year-old man and a hundred twenty-year-old vampire?”

“God, you had to go there…”

“What? I know I’m robbing the cradle, but you’re a grownup. Neither one of us has a curfew.” Sam leaned in toward him and kissed the crown of his cheek, making Steve huff and roll his eyes. “As long as you get me home by dawn, I won’t get in trouble-”

“Why am I going out with you again?”

Sam waggled his brows this time, and told him “ _You_ know _why_.”

“Ah… yeah. Okay. Okay.”

Sam smirked, and he kissed Steve again teasingly, just to get him to blush the way he enjoyed. Steve leaned into him and played with Sam’s fingers, and they turned their attention back to the screen. Mary-Charles was standing in front of the tombstones of her likely biological fathers and giving them the cursing out that they deserved.

“I love M-Chuck,” Sam murmured.

“She’s awesome,” Steve agreed. “Such a great character. I just… I sympathize with her so much.” Sam introduced Steve to _Survivor’s Remorse,_ and watching it together became one of their routines.

“She’s the underdog. She’s been living in her brother’s shadow, and in her mother’s, and she’s ready to be her own person. And she isn’t having anyone’s shit,” Sam pronounced.

“Exactly.”

Which explained why Steve liked her so much, when Sam gave it some thought. 

Steve was nobody’s underdog. And he was _definitely_ determined to be his own person. 

In the meantime, though… let’s say Steve had an uneasy relationship with his lycanthropy. He saw it less as blessing, and more as an itch that he couldn’t scratch. He kept fidgeting and letting out these little frustrated sounds, until Sam asked him, “Need some space?”

Steve’s expression was instantly apologetic. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I just-”

“I get it. It’s okay. All right? I get it. Go get some air. I’ll be up for a while if you still want to chill. I’ll listen for the door, Steve. Hm?” Sam leaned in and let his lips hover close to Steve’s, barely brushing them. “I’ll always listen for you.” The kiss was a soft, tender promise, and Steve hummed his approval. His slim-fingered hand reached up and cupped Sam’s cheek, and they shared breath and heat. Sometimes, they worked around Steve’s restlessness like this. Or, they took a walk together, which sometimes calmed Steve’s urges. Being indoors for too long sometimes stifled him. 

But when Steve pulled back, Sam noticed that his eyes were glowing a faint gold. Sam sighed and gently removed Steve’s hand. “Stay safe?”

“Won’t make any promises.”

“Don’t eat anybody.”

“I can work with that.” He let his eyes roam over Sam and tsked. “God, you look good tonight.”

“I’ll look just as good when you get back.” Sam caught Steve’s wrist, though, as he stood up. He felt the funny little jump in Steve’s pulse. “Don’t forget to make sure the curtains are pulled if you come in through the patio. Especially if you get back late.”

“I’ll try to make it back before sunrise.” Steve’s voice shifted, sounding hoarse and rough, telling Sam loud and clear that he needed to let him go, and his eyes flashed a brighter, deeper gold.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Miss you too, baby.”

“Night.”

“G’night, Sammy.”

Steve left him, loping off into the darkness, and before he’d even made it three blocks, while Sam watched through the window blinds’ slats, he began to shift. His posture arched and curled, and Sam saw a light coat of sandy fur erupt over Steve’s fair skin. Sam knew Steve’s favorite park was about a mile away. There was a small creek that ran through it, and Steve sometimes crept down under the small bridge and just listened to the night sounds. More often than not, if he needed to, he howled, in low, chilling croons. 

“This one time, Sam, this couple came down there to get a little privacy. Must’ve thought that was their special spot. I scared the shit out of ‘em. Wasn’t one of my finer moments.”

“What did you do?”

“You’d think less of me if I told you.”

Sam’s expression was deadpan, but there was a gleam in his eye. He folded his brawny arms across his chest and told him, “Go on.”

“Sniffed ‘em. Just because I could. They thought holding still was smarter than running away - I mean, I get it, it’s a common misconception - and I just walked up to ‘em and started sniffin’ at ‘em and gettin’ into their personal space-”

“Oh, _no_ you _didn’t_!”

“Calm down, Sammy. I just messed with ‘em a little. I let my whiskers tickle his face and licked his cheek for good measure. You should’ve heard him praying. I think he was an atheist before he ran into me.”

“Oh, dear Lord.”

“Ah, it was fun. I didn’t poke my nose anywhere interesting; don’t worry about it.”

Sam huffed and shook his head, but he still treated Steve to that slow smile that he loved.

*

 

Every lycan Sam had met had stories like that. All of them had at least one revenge story or wish fulfillment tale of getting back at anyone who victimized them before they were chosen. And some of them just enjoyed the power, and the raw strength that went with the gift. Lycan senses were valuable in different fields; the police academies and forensics’ programs at the local colleges were recruiting them for their enhanced vision and smell, as well as for how well they could tell when someone was lying. There was a certain wildness and abandon that came with the curse. Steve still fretted about his changes, but once he turned, on every cycle of the full moon, he never felt so free.

It was just hard. Sam wanted Steve to know that he could share this with him. Sam had been alive for a long time, and he’d seen his share of weird things. Frightening things. Steve shared the funny stories with him, including how his family felt when he came out as a lycan to them. His father banned him from returning the house; his mother occasionally came by and dropped off a few packs of meat. The first time she met Sam, she looked uneasy and kept their visit brief. By the end of the second month that they dated, though, Sarah Rogers started bringing over bottles of wine spiked with Sam’s favorite blood type. “Bev-Mo was having a special, and I had a coupon!” she bragged to him. She smelled like Steve, and like lemons, when Sam hugged her by way of thanks.

Whenever Steve left, Sam felt lonely. This was something that they could work around, sure.

Sam wanted to be able to share it with him, though. He really did.

Especially since Steve had already been with Sam on one of His Bad Nights.

*

 

Sam waited too long to eat.

Way too long.

By the time he came home from work, it was nearly dawn, he was exhausted, and all Sam wanted to do was fall into bed. Which he did, and he slept like the dead, round the clock, until seven PM. When he woke, he was ravenous. He stumbled up from bed, and the room spun. Sam’s throat was on fire and his veins stood out in his face, arms and neck, pulsing and rigid. His fangs burst through his gums of their own volition. 

“Shit… shitshitshit,” he rasped as he stumbled against the wall. His legs wobbled, refusing to support his weight. _Fuck._ His clock told him that he had a half an hour until Steve met him for their date. Sam clung to walls and tables as he made his unsteady way to the kitchen and checked the fridge. 

No more blood bags. He’d consumed his last one the night before, promising himself he would stop by the bank for more. “Shit…” This reminded him of every time he’d ever gone to Costco and spent a hundred dollars on everything, only to get home and realize that he forgot toilet paper, when it was the one item he’d gone to the store for in the first place. 

He’d never make it to the bank in this shape. Sam was stuck.

He’d need a live feeding. Which meant he would have to hunt. He had no time. Not before Steve arrived-

_Knock, knock, knock._ “Sammy?” Steve’s voice was cheerful. “I got off work a little early. Thought we could still make the early show, if you want.”

“Fuck,” Sam mouthed. He broke out into a cold sweat and felt nausea rise up into his throat from hunger. “Steve. Um. Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“It’s… tonight might not be a good time, after all. I didn’t know you were on your way over, already.”

“You okay? Uh. I texted you. Guess you didn’t get it, huh?”

“I slept in really late.” Sam drifted closer to the door. “Tonight might not be the best, Steven.”

“Aw, Sam…! I’m sorry. Are you really tired?”

_Weak. Starving. Feel like I can’t stop myself from what I have to do._ All of the words Sam wished he could tell him tasted rancid on Sam’s tongue. He felt ashamed for his lack of planning and being caught like this. Sam clenched his fists, feeling so torn.

“I don’t…”

“What’s the matter, Sammy?” Steve’s voice was soft. “Can I see you? Will you at least let me in, for a second?”

“Steve…” Sam’s voice sounded haggard. He closed his eyes, knowing they were burning red as firebrands with the bloodlust.

“Sam, please let me in.”

“Steve. I-I want to. I really do, but… I’m not safe.”

“Why?”

“Because… I’m hungry.”

He heard the abrupt silence and cringed. Sam’s face crumpled and he felt his eyes grow hot.

“Don’t be ashamed of that, Sam.”

Sam shook his head and laid his palm against the door, still so torn. “I have to go out and hunt. If you get a head start and get away from here, I can wait a bit, Steve. I can pick someone else, but it’s gonna be really hard to-”

“I don’t need a head start, Sam. Just let me inside.”

“No!”

“Sam, c’mon! This ain’t anything I can’t handle! D’ya hear me? I can help you through this. I’ll take care of you.”

“No, you won’t. You can’t.” Sam shook his head, lips trembling, and he felt the first hot tear leak from his eye and slide down his cheek. It dripped down onto his bare chest; he was still in his boxers, not ready for a date by any stretch of the imagination. 

Steve’s voice was soothing, deep and rich. He kept trying to reach Sam. “It’s all right. I can handle this, Sam. I can handle _you_. You know that I know what I signed up for, right?”

Sam huffed, giving into the rough, hollow laugh that escaped him.

“Sweetheart, it doesn’t bother me. Not unless you’re holed up in there, starving. I can pick you up some blood if you need it.”

“Like takeout?” Sam mocked. “You don’t want this. It’s all right if you. If you don’t.” Sam’s voice didn’t want to form the words.

“Damn it, Sam. _Don’t you dare._ ”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. _I’m sorry_. You don’t… you don’t have to…”

Sam’s voice was retreating from the door. Steve’s adrenaline spiked with panic as he realized that Sam was ready walk away from what they had before it truly began. Steve knocked on the door again, but he heard Sam’s retreating footsteps. He even heard Sam’s _pulse_ , uneven and stuttering, and he smelled his sweat. There was an odd, hard tang to Sam’s scent. He felt Sam’s despair so keenly that it made his insides twist. Steve’s knocks grew in volume until you could only call it _banging_.

“Sammy! LET ME IN! Open the door!”

“Don’t… just don’t. It’s not worth it, Steven.”

“Like hell it ain’t,” Steve growled, and he marshaled his strength and threw all of his weight at the door, shifting to his transitional form in an inkling.

The door burst forward off the hinges, flying back inside Sam’s apartment. Sam stood transifixed, in a red-eyed, shivering stupor. Crying. 

“Steve…”

Steve shifted back to baseline and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “God, Sam… c’mere, baby. I’m here.”

Steve hurried inside and reached for him, but Sam held him off. “Don’t look at me. You don’t want this.”

“I think you missed the part where I do.”

“I need to feed!”

“I know that!” Steve shot back, and he chased Sam toward the wall, crowding him and gripping his shoulders. His skin felt chilled and clammy, and Steve made a dismayed sound. “You’re in bad shape, sweetheart.”

“You don’t want this. Look at me, Steve!” Sam’s words were slurring slightly from his fangs, and from his hunger. Shame crept through him at the feel of Steve’s warm hands. Sam smelled him; Steve’s scent made his mouth water, and he saw Steve’s thick, pulsing jugular vein calling out to him. Steve’s face was filled with concern and worry.

“I’m gonna fix the door, Sam. I’m gonna lock it up, so we can have some time alone. And I’m gonna take us back to your room, or to the couch, or wherever you feel like you can relax. And I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna take really good care of you.”

Sam covered his mouth and shook his head, but Steve nodded. “It’s okay.” Steve stood up on his tiptoes and kissed Sam’s forehead, and Sam moaned with the shame he felt, but Steve was gentle, and his skin was so warm. Sam regretted it when Steve moved away to replace the door. 

After several tries, he got the door rehung on the hinge and locked it up. Steve went to Sam’s linen pantry and took down a couple of blankets and one of his older, ratty towels. He brought them to the couch and laid the towel over the arm before he unbuttoned his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna hold you, and I’m giving you dinner. Slept too late, didn’t you?”

Sam nodded hollowly.

“You’ve gotta feel like hell, Sammy.”

Steve shed the shirt and laid it on the coffee table, and he took off his jeans too, so that they were both in their underwear. Sam appreciated his slight, toned, wiry body. His skin was so fair, and he had light, sandy freckles sprayed over his upper back, shoulders and forearms. He beckoned to Sam. “C’mere. Cuddle with me.”

Sam hesitated, until Steve sat down on the couch and patted the space beside him. Sam staggered over, still trembling and shivering, and he let Steve draw him in and wrap them both in the blankets.

“It’s dangerous to be this close to me right now.”

“No, it’s not. I trust you.” Steve snorted. “Do you remember who you’re talking to, Wilson?”

“This is why I don’t date norms,” Sam confessed. “It’s never worked out.”

“Preaching to the choir, baby.” And oh, Steve’s bare skin felt lusciously warm when he enveloped Sam and urged him to lie with him so that Sam’s forehead rested against Steve’s cheek. Steve took the towel and tucked it against the side of his neck. Sam’s fangs itched, lengthening as he caught Steve’s scent and the tang of blood, and his mouth watered at the source of nourishment, so temptingly, maddeningly close.

Steve stroked his hair, scratching his fingernails over Sam’s scalp. “I’m ready.”

“I’m so sorry.” Sam’s voice was a hoarse half-sob. “I don’t want to be like this.”

“Get yourself settled. Dig in. Then we’ll talk about all of the problems I have with that statement, Wilson.”

Sam closed his eyes and tilted his face, opened his mouth, and bit down deep into Steve’s straining, tender vein, and the hot, metallic liquid rushed over his tongue. Sam continued to shiver against Steve, and Steve’s hard, skinny arms tightened around him, pulling the blankets around him nice and snug.

“S’all right,” Steve murmured. “We’re okay, baby. Nice and slow and easy.”

Sam closed his eyes and clung to Steve, trying not to drink too fast. He let himself feel its warmth gradually feel his body, easing into his veins and nourishing all of his tissues. The chills gradually subsided; it was like drinking a hot cup of tea after coming in from a blizzard. Steve kept stroking his hair, kneading the tension out of his shoulders. Their legs tangled together under the covers, and Sam sighed at how cozy this was, just skin on skin. He smelled no fear from Steve. His body was lax and heavy with fatigue, immobile beneath Sam’s weight.

And he groaned in pleasure when Steve’s skin erupted in soft, glossy fur. Sam continued to drink, and Steve’s muscles beneath him felt softened and pliant.

Sam slowly drank his fill, almost a pint, and he withdrew his fangs, retracting them before he removed his mouth from Steve’s throat. When he pulled back, Steve’s face was relaxed and blissful. A soft smile spread over his lips. His breathing was slow and even. 

“Better, baby?”

“Steve. You big, dumb idiot. Why did you let me do that?”

“Didn’t want you backing out on our date,” he joked.

“Seriously??” Sam licked his lips, still stained with Steve’s blood. Some of it dripped onto the towel, and Sam reached for it, tucking it more tightly against the tiny, matched wounds. He put pressure on it to keep Steve from losing anymore blood, and Steve just smiled blearily up at him.

“I wasn’t worried. M’still not worried. Wanna be with you, Sam.”

“This isn’t how you do that.”

“Don’t lecture me. You’re nice and warm, now. And cuddly.” Steve demonstrated this by tugging Sam down against him again, despite Sam’s initial resistance.

“You realize what you just did. You let me feed off of you.”

“S’nice.”

“What?”

“Feels nice. And you smell good, now. Smelled sick before. This is better.”

“Steve-”

“Please don’t be all hung up about this, Wilson.”

Sam’s jaw worked. Then, he finally sagged against Steve, exhaling a gusty sigh. Steve just reached up and combed his fingers through that soft, wiry hair again, and Sam felt pleasure curl through his limbs. 

“You didn’t have to do this just because I fucked up and didn’t plan ahead.”

“Ever think maybe I like helping you? Sometimes, things don’t go according to plan. ‘Planning ahead’ with me is paring down my social calendar every three weeks for those nights where I’m feelin’ a little ‘antisocial.’” Steve’s voice made quotes around the word, and Sam chuckled at last. “We’re gonna be okay, Sam.”

Sam felt pleasantly full, warm, and relaxed. Buzzing, almost. “Hey. Feels… all yummy and tingly inside.” He stroked Steve’s chest, marveling at the lush softness of his fur. “You’re so soft.”

“Are you drunk, Sam?”

“Dunno. Just… feels so _good_. So _warm_.”

“I know this is about when you usually get up, but I could use a nap.”

Sam kissed his throat, just delicate presses of his lips.

“No seconds,” Steve teased. 

“Nn-hnnnn,” Sam agreed. “Nah. M’not hungry anymore. Just… feel really nice right now. Sam’s face was drowsy and blearily happy when he leaned up to stare into Steve’s face. He reached over and plucked his glasses off, laying them aside. His eyes were gleaming yellow, making Sam miss their usual blue for a moment. Steve’s face was filled with affection and lingering concern. 

Steve reached up and pretended to sock Sam in the chin with one furry fist. “Don’t scare me like that again, baby. Okay? I know what you were goin’ through, but just let me in?”

“M’sorry.” 

“Yeah? Well, I’m sorry about your _door_.”

Sam shrugged. “Hinge squealed a little, anyway.”

“Tell your super to get on that,” Steve teased.

Sam stared down at him, stroking Steve’s soft, sandy blond hair. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I try.”

“You succeed.” Sam dipped down and kissed him, earning Steve’s sigh of contentment. They remained like that for a while, coccooned together in the blankets, drinking each other in (much less literally this time) until Steve began to doze. Sam stayed with Steve while he slept, just listening to his heartbeat until he drifted off himself.

They stirred awake at midnight. One of Steve’s arms was flung above his head in an effort to claim some of the cooler air in Sam’s apartment. Sam was comfortable, but Steve had begun to sweat, and his fur receded, leaving behind his fair, smooth skin. Sam moved the towel aside; the puncture wounds in his neck had already scabbed over, and the bruising had faded to yellow. Bless Steve’s werewolf healing factor, he mused. Just as Sam dropped the towel onto the floor, Steve opened his eyes and smiled at him.

“You okay?”

“Aces. Feels good, waking up to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, kiss me good morning. Don’t leave a guy hangin’, Sammy. Gimme some sugar.”

“I’ll give you more than that,” Sam promised, as he leaned down and kissed Steve’s smile. The contact had changed between them, moving from comfort to arousal within seconds. Steve’s grip on Sam was possessive and firm as Sam drank kisses from his mouth, lapping up his heat like he was starving all over again, and the little approving, desperate sounds Steve made defeated Sam’s chill _completely_. On any other night, Sam prided himself on being smoother than this. But Steve was under him, warm, willing, hands pulling at him and pushing Sam’s boxers down, and Sam needed to thank him for bringing him dinner on such short notice.

Sam’s lips wandered over Steve’s face, tracing his jaw, sliding hotly over his throat. “Don’t worry,” he murmured against his skin. 

“M’not,” Steve told him. His fingers even curled into Sam’s hair as he laved his neck in smooth spirals. “No fangs, right?”

“Not yet. Not unless you tell me you want ‘em.”

“Not...yet. God, you’re good at doing that… _fuck,_ Sam.”

It was awkward, peeling off two pairs of boxers beneath the blankets, but they both dropped to the floor. Sam and Steve both had sharp enough night vision to be able to appreciate the other in the darkness of the room, with only thin cracks of light from the streetlamps outside sneaking in through the slats. Sam counted Steve’s freckles and the tiny pores around his beige-pink nipples before he tasted one. His body was slim and rangy, abdomen so flat it was almost concave. Sam hummed in contentment at Steve’s taste, at the faint saltiness of his skin and the way the nipple peaked between the blunt edges of Sam’s teeth. Steve’s head tipped back and his mouth dropped open on a curse.

He lay there, passive and willing, as Sam lapped and kissed a winding path down his body. By the time he reached his cock, Steve was erect and leaking a little, and he shuddered with need when Sam engulfed him. Sam made himself comfortable between his tapered, taut thighs and slowly drove him wild.

“God, your mouth,” Steve rasped. 

Then, because Steve could _still_ be a little shit,

“Just… no… teeth.” Sam’s low chuckle reverberated through his flesh, almost making him lose it.

Sam reached over and palmed Steve’s wallet from the coffee table, never removing his mouth. Steve took it from him, fumbled inside it and brought out his supplies. He handed Sam the small, thin packet of lube, and seconds later, he felt the pressure of Sam’s finger easing inside him, making Steve arch.

Sam released his cock in one slow, smooth slide, before he continued to prime Steve, watching his face. “Easy,” Sam murmured. “Nice and slow and easy.” He borrowed Steve’s earlier words, making him huff a laugh.

“Not too slow, if ya really wanna thank me, Sammy.”

“I’ll thank you,” Sam promised as he twisted his hand. And it was hard, watching that body move and react to Sam’s touch. Sam’s cock felt neglected, twitching with the need to feel Steve’s snug heat wrapped around it. His slick fingers curled and thrust into him, and Steve’s hips thrust up at Sam in reply, tempting him, urging him to hurry. Steve’s fingers twisted the throw pillow beneath his head, and his eyes pleaded with Sam. Sam found his sweet spot and massaged it, and he saw an answering gleam of gold in Steve’s eyes.

“Please.” Steve’s voice was a husky growl, telling Sam it was time to get on with it.

Sam kissed Steve’s knee fondly before kneeling between his legs and tucking another of the throw pillows under Steve’s ass. Steve felt Sam tease him a little more, heard the shifting of his weight against the cushions and the snap of the condom, before Sam entered him in one slow, smooth shunt.

_Jesus._

The sound Steve made nearly undid Sam, coupled with the tight, hot grip he had on him. It was like coming home. He fit Sam like a glove, and his face went slack with pleasure. “God damn it, Sam… oh, God, you feel so fucking good…”

“You like that?” Sam gave his hips a shallow roll, and Steve nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “Just like that?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“You like that.”

“Oh, yeah. I like that, Sam. S’good. Feels nice and hard… an’ deep…”

Sam began to thrust into him, and Steve gradually lost the ability to speak. Sam’s mind went quiet as he let his body feel Steve, let the sensations ripple through him, aware of nothing but Steve’s voice and his scent, the sweat that broke out over his skin. The friction of the couch cushions would eventually give Sam’s knees rug burn, but he didn’t mind. Not at all.

Not when Steve looked and sounded like that. Not when he responded to Sam and took him so well. It was erotic, watching his cock disappear over and over into his body. Sam rode him, tightly gripping his narrow hips. Steve never reached down to touch himself, trusting Sam to carry him through it. By the time he climaxed, growling gutturally, legs clamped tight around Sam, both of them were raw. Shuddering. Steve’s seed laced both of their abdomens with white, slick wetness. Moments later, Sam warmed his insides, pulsing and throbbing within him, before he collapsed against him.

They panted and clung to one another. Sam wasn’t ready to disengage from his heat yet, and Steve didn’t seem to mind. Steve’s ragged breath steamed Sam’s skin, stirring the hairs at his temple. Sam was practically purring under his touch as Steve caressed his back.

“You’re good at that.”

“I can’t move.”

“Neither one of us’ll be able to if you don’t get us something to clean up with in a minute. We’ll both be stuck here, Sam.”

“Don’t hear me complaining about that right now, though, do you?”

Steve showed Sam his “listening face,” and then he shook his head. A smile drifted over his lips. “No. Don’t hear any complaining.”

Steve was glowing with satisfaction, and at that point, Sam knew he was a goner.

*

 

Which was why it frustrated Sam so much that Steve wanted to push him away. Not when they could work around this. Not when they already had.

Sam appreciated the value of personal space. And he respected Steve’s boundaries. But, _come on._

Come on, Steve.

The night in question went by. Then two. Then three. Sam was restless, watching his phone during the wee hours for a text from Steve. Nothing but the brief _Made it home._ Steve came back as the moon waxed to a generous gibbous, still luminous against the inky sky, and he looked rough. Tired. He walked into Sam’s embrace and just lingered there, breathing him in.

“Missed you.”

“You wouldn’t have to, if-”

“No. Don’t. Don’t even ask it.”

“Okay.”

But Sam just held him so tight. “If I can trust you, then you can trust me.”

He felt Steve wince. Sam pretended it didn’t hurt.

*

They went back to business as usual over the course of that month. And then, the next. Sam’s space belonged just as much to Steve. His favorite pajamas and several changes of underwear shared space in Sam’s drawer, and his toothbrush rested in the cup beside Sam’s. Steve preferred Sam’s pots and pans; they were in pristine condition, purchased from the Williams and Sonoma catalog shortly before Sam was turned. Sam’s apartment felt like home, because _Sam_ felt like home. It felt like they really had something. Something permanent, and solid.

So, Sam decided to poke the elephant in the room. The full moon was in two days. Steve had already made noises about putting gas in his car for the weekend and had packed his overnight bag. It was January, and the days were shorter. Sam wasn’t complaining; that meant they could spend a longer time out of the apartment, despite the fact that it was freezing outside. Sam could leave his blinds open by mid-afternoon, and he almost felt human again. It still threw off his circadian rhythms, though. He never knew when to sleep. It helped when Steve was there, tucked close against him. 

He wasn’t looking forward to being without him. Sam had already asked for the weekend off. Ororo eyed him knowingly as she signed his request for PTO and handed him the yellow copy.

“Make your time together count, Sam.”

Because she knew. Of course she knew.

“Every goddamn second.”

 

Sam stirred Steve’s soup, even though he wasn’t planning to eat any himself. “So. I have the weekend off.”

“Yeah? What were you thinking of doing?”

“Getting out of town.”

“Who with?”

“You,” Sam said casually.

Steve dropped his drawing pencil and pushed himself away from the dining room table. He stared up at Sam incredulously. “Come again?”

“I’m spending the weekend with my boyfriend.”

“Sam. We’ve talked about this.”

“No. _You_ talked about it, and I disagreed, and this whole ‘full moon problem’ is becoming a problem.”

Steve exhaled loudly through his nose, and then he rubbed the bridge and closed his eyes. “This really bothers you, doesn’t it, Sam?”

“I don’t want it to. I don’t.”

“No. Go on. It does, right?” Steve’s voice rose a little, but Sam held his ground.

“I know what you are. You’ve seen what I am. You’ve even let me drink from you-”

“That doesn’t bother me! You needed it! And I’d do anything to keep you safe, Sam!”

“I know that! So let me do the same! Let me be there for you, Steve!”

“Sam… it ain’t pretty. You don’t get it. It’s not… it’s not like how we are when I just- when I shift a little. It’s not that I don’t think you can handle it. It’s that… I have a hard time staying in control. I’m not myself. The wolf takes over on the full moon. The lights are on, Sam, but Steve Rogers ain’t home. He’s nowhere to be found.”

And Sam had heard stories. Read news headlines. He knew that lycans needed safe spaces to hunt or to change. It was safer, but it was also _lonely_. 

And Steve’s eyes looked so sad. His shoulders slumped, holding the weight of the world. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you, baby. I hate this. I just… sometimes, I really hate who I am.”

Sam set down the soup spoon and went to him. He knelt between Steve’s spread knees, and Steve tried to look away, but Sam reached for him, cupping his face in his cool palm. “Steve.”

“Sam…”

“Don’t. Don’t ever say that. I never want to hear those words leave your mouth again. I care about you so damned much, Steve.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this.”

“Uh, hello?” Sam smiled and extended his fangs. “Who deals with _who_?” He retracted them again, point made, because Steve rolled his eyes and sighed.

“This is different. When you feed, you’re still yourself. When I have to hunt, I’m… not.”

“You’re still in there.”

“I can hear his thoughts. And I can feel what he feels. But it’s like I’m trapped. And I hate it. I just… I want to feel like a man again. Just a man.”

“You are.”

“No. I have to share this body. I’m cursed. I’m a goddamned fucking animal, and I don’t want to be out of control when I’m with you.”

“You know me. Steve, you know me. You know how I sound, and you know my scent. You trust me. You’re not afraid of me, right?”

“Never.” Steve’s tone was solemn, and he covered Sam’s hand against his cheek with his, holding it there. His eyes glistened and burned, and his sigh was gusty. “I could never be afraid of you, Sam.” 

“Then trust me when I tell you that I want to be with you. I want to look after you.”

“I can take care of myself!”

“You don’t always have to. I worry about you when you’re gone. When you leave to go change.”

“I always come back to you. I’ll _always_ come back to you, Sam.”

Oh, this man was making Sam’s insides melt.

“That’s a big promise to make, Steve. Especially to a guy that’ll basically live forever. Or pretty close to it.”

“The average lycan lives around two hundred years, give or take,” Steve reminded him. “That’s a long time to split rent and utilities and argue about who took out the trash last.”

Now _Sam’s_ eyes burned. “Always come back to me, huh?”

“Every damned time, Sam.”

“How about if I just go with you?”

Steve closed his eyes and kept stroking Sam’s fingers. Sam leaned in and kissed him, leaning his forehead against Steve’s. “You’re really set on this?”

“Uh-huh. It’s something I need from you. I need it for myself. So I know you’ll be safe.”

“Turn off the soup.”

“Are you hungry? Sorry, I’m sorry, here I am, running on at the mouth-”

“No. Just turn it off so it doesn’t burn, sweetheart.” Steve leaned back and unbuttoned his shirt, and Sam huffed. He got up reluctantly, leaving Steve just long enough to turn off the burner. He returned, bent down, scooped Steve up and wrapped his legs around his hips, carrying him back to the bedroom, and by the time they reached the doorway, Steve was on him, ravenous, kissing Sam like somebody was gonna outlaw it tomorrow. Their clothes quickly littered the once-tidy floor, and the mattress bounced beneath their combined weight. Hungry mouths, nipping teeth and roaming hands found bare skin, and Sam showed him that he loved the man that Steve no longer felt he was, more than the air that he breathed.

*

 

Steve’s excursions took a lot of planning. It took twice as long when he factored in Sam’s needs.

They charged their phones before bed and set their alarm for four AM, early enough to get a head start on commuter traffic and to make haste before the sun rose. They packed two duffels and loaded up the back seat of the car with food, water bottles, a first aid kit, and a cooler packed with Sam’s blood bags. Sam brought his laptop, extra sheets - his black ones that he used in his spare room, to cover the windows - and a special leather satchel that Steve took with him every trip. 

They packed up the back seat with everything. Sam sighed as Steve opened the trunk, and they spread out the sheets and thick duvet inside, adding a couple of pillows.

“Don’t take too many bumps,” Sam warned.

“Hey. I can drive,” Steve argued, but his expression was apologetic. “I promise the next time, it’ll be a night trip, Sam. On a crescent moon, when we can enjoy it.”

“Yeah, yeah. C’mere, punk. Gimme some sugar.” He kissed Steve long and deep before he released him. Sam climbed into the trunk, and Steve asked him if he was all in before he firmly closed the trunk, shrouding Sam in darkness.

They drove, and the rumble of the road and the engine beneath him lulled Sam to sleep. He was bundled up warmly against the chill, but he missed Steve’s contact and scent. He heard the faint strains of his music through the rear speakers, hard to pick out over the road noise, but there was Steve, singing along like the goofball he was. Sam had choppy dreams in the cramped trunk. Steve, to his credit, drove smoothly and didn’t take turns too fast or come to abrupt stops.

Wherever Steve brought them, Sam could hear the wind picking up in heavy gusts. Sam cracked his eyes open; they felt tired and dry as he reached for his phone. The screen threw a blue glow over his face as he checked the time. Five-oh-one PM. _Damn._

He heard Steve fumbling with his car keys, and his breathing sounded uneven and rough. Sam blinked up at him and immediately fretted over Steve’s appearance. His skin was waxy and pale, and his pupils were dilated. “I already unlocked it, Just head inside, babe.”

Sam looked up in surprise. It was a beach house. Old, weather-beaten. Calling it “rustic” was being too nice. Sam doubted they even had wi-fi out this far, but he also realized that Steve brought them out to a private beach.

“It’s a timeshare,” Steve explained. “Sometimes, I hole up here. I head out to the campgrounds during the warmer months, but this… I just like this, even though it’s cold as balls. At least I know I’ll be alone.” He gave Sam a hand to help him up out of the trunk, and Sam stretched out the kinks in his neck and back.

“You go relax. I’ll unpack.”

“I’m okay.”

“No. You’re not. And you’ve been driving all day. Relax, Steven.”

Steve looked pained. He clutched at his shoulder, wincing with discomfort.

“Steve…”

“I’m okay. This is what I was talking about… you didn’t have to come-”

“Yes. I did. Let me know how I can help you through this.”

“Just… just help me inside.”

“I’m here.” And they walked up the front steps. Steve was trembling so badly that he couldn’t push the key into the lock. Sam relieved him of the task and hurried him inside. Steve gave him a quick tour. 

“There’s the space heater. I’ve gotta take a leak.”

“Go. No problem. Get settled.” Steve darted off to the bathroom down the hall. Sam caught the faint scent of bleach; the place was no frills, but at least the housekeeping was impeccable. Sam found the space heater and a book of long matches. He lit it before he went back out to the car to bring in their bags and supplies. By the time he got back into the house, he could still hear Steve in the toilet, draining himself. 

“Did you not stop _once_ on the way here?” Sam called in to him.

“I did. Once. But I stopped and got a Big Gulp.”

“Of course,” Sam agreed. “You know you can’t handle all that sugar, Steve.”

“Yeah, yeah.” By the time Steve washed his hands and came back out, he was less shaky, but still pale. Still anxious. Sam had seen him keyed up before, during the waxing moon, but it was never this pronounced before. Sam unpacked the food, stocking the fridge and shelves. He was glad to notice that Steve had a coffee maker, even though he thought to bring instant for them, just in case. They didn’t have to live like _total_ savages, for cryin’ out loud…

Just as Sam folded up the last empty grocery bag to stow in an empty cupboard, he heard a crash from the living room and Steve’s low, ragged shout. His blood ran cold, and he darted out of the kitchen.

“Steve?!”

“DON’T! GET BACK! GET AWAY FROM ME, SAM, for the love of God!” Steve had knocked over a lamp, and he was reeling, staggering and crashing into everything. He was _bigger_. The seams of his clothes were straining to contain him, and his eyes were glowing an eerie, unearthly gold.

And for some reason Sam couldn’t name, excitement raced through his veins and sped up his pulse.

_Steve._

Steve was panting, growling, snatching at his clothing. Sam hurried forward and helped him out of the shirt and stifling sweater. Steve smacked futilely at his hands and growled in warning, but Sam held his ground. “It’s all right, Steve! Let me help you, damn it!”

“GRRRAAHHHHHHHRRRRGGH!”

“Yeah, yeah! Give me a minute, damn it!” Sam snatched at the waist of Steve’s pants, and Steve railed and fought against him, snapping his head back and forth. Sam smelled the mounting pong of musk from his flesh as his fur began to sprout, and his nails darkened, extending into cruel-looking talons. Steve breathed roughly, the air fanning out of his nose - snout - in hot billows. His lips peeled back from his teeth, rows of gleaming, prickling white snags. Steve pushed Sam back with a rough shove that sent him stumbling, but Sam had Steve’s pants. He chucked them onto the couch.

“What do you need, Steve? Do you need out?”

Steve gave Sam another roar in reply, bristling and railing. He continued to pace the room, knocking things over as he grew. Sam could _hear_ his bones and muscles tearing apart and knitting back in different configurations, and he could imagine the _wracking, excruciating agony_ it caused as Steve continued to shift. His jaw narrowed and lengthened into a muzzle. Whiskers sprouted from it, twitching with annoyance at his confinement in the otherwise cozy living room.

Sam’s heart pounded in his chest. He longed to touch him. Calm him. But all he could do was stare.

Steve _towered_ over Sam, now, no sign of the slight, compact man that he loved. A long, bushy tail lashed back and forth as he paced the room, growling warnings at Sam.

“It’s all right, Steve.”

Steve scrunched up his nose and roared, then stalked Sam, bearing down on him until Sam backed up. He kept easing back until he hit a wall, knocking off the generic framed artwork that looked like Steve picked it up from the curio section of Ross. He heard the glass pane crack as it hit the floor, and Steve’s eyes were still dilated. Sam noticed briefly that Steve’s glasses were nowhere in sight; maybe he left them in the bathroom.

“It’s all right. I’m not going anywhere. D’you hear me? I’m not leaving you, Steve.” Yet Sam’s hand trembled as he reached out for him, hesitantly stroking the heaving, massive chest. Good Lord, the man looked like someone fed him a bucket full of steroids…

His touch had the opposite effect that Sam expected. Steve _whimpered_ mournfully. He grimaced, leaning in, sniffing at Sam’s face and neck. Sam let his hand drop and just held still, letting him take him in and process who he was. 

Steve huffed, shook himself and backed off, and before Sam could stop him, he bound out of the living room, slapped the door open so hard that it bounced off the wall, and he leapt off the front porch.

“God damn it,” Sam muttered. Okay.

_Okay._

 

*

Sam warred with himself about what to do. Steve was fast in this form. Strong. Unbalanced. _Wild_. Small spaces weren’t his friend right now. And neither were clothes. The thought made Sam shudder; Steve rushed out in nothing but his boxers, and no way could those big, clawed feet of his fit into his shoes right now.

Sam finished unpacking their bags and moved the first aid kit to the dresser. He checked all the windows in the house and made sure they were securely locked, and Sam began to put up his sheets in the bedroom, locking out the light. At least he could get the place ready for bedtime, because Sam intended to sleep in. In a bed, this time, with Steve curled tight in his arms. And that meant that he needed to keep track of where he was.

Sam bundled himself more heavily, wrapping up in his heavy scarf and pulling on a soft wool beanie. He zipped up his North Face jacket against the chill and crammed his hands into his pockets before he left the house. He took a water bottle with him, already feeling a little dehydrated. He’d eat once Steve was back inside.

He caught Steve’s scent easily and followed his tracks through the sand. Sam was glad Steve picked a beach. Despite the freezing winds, it was a beautiful shoreline. The sky was full of stars, and the ocean glittered around him as the waves rolled in. Sam picked up the pace and tracked Steve in the darkness, wishing that this was any other night where the two of them could just enjoy this. 

*

He managed to find him two miles down the beach, where the shore gave way to the surrounding woods. Sam heard tearing, crunching noises as he approached, finding Steve hunched in the darkness, fur bristling as he worked on whatever he captured.

Sam grimaced. Steve was steadfastly breaking down a raccoon carcass. He turned at the sound of Sam’s footsteps and huffed, growling low in his throat.

“I thought we’d at least get to have dinner together,” Sam joked.

Steve’s answering growl was guttural, and if Sam wasn’t mistaken, slightly annoyed.

“Go ahead and finish. I’ll wait.”

Steve glowered up at him, but he hunched back over the carcass and went back to his meal. Sam fought the frisson of nausea that gripped him at the sight of the entrails on the ground. Steve’s muzzle was speckled with blood, and it dripped from his talons. He looked primal and wild. Those gleaming amber eyes were still dilated when they turned themselves on Sam.

“Rrrrrrrrhhhhh.”

“Could’ve made gravy with the giblets,” Sam reminded him. “Always save the giblets, Steve.”

“Grrrrrrgggghh.”

“Or, don’t. Don’t have to if you don’t to.”

The trees rustled in the wind. Sam sipped from the bottle of water and rubbed his hands together for warmth.

Steve gave up on it, dropping the remains in the brush. He stood and shook himself, and Sam rose from the rock where he sat.

“Was that enough? We’ve got food at the house,” Sam urged. Steve bristled, and Sam watched his hackles rise as he tried to advance. He wisely backed up.

“Water? Want some water?” Sam uncapped the bottle and held it out. Steve growled and huffed, but he wandered closer, nose scrunched with interest. Sam remained still, holding the bottle aloft. “Thirsty?”

“Rrrrrhh?”

“C’mon. Take a sip. Somehow.” Sam wondered if Steve would remember how a bottle worked. Steve slunk up to him, crouching low, and he sniffed at Sam again once he was within reach. His whiskered tickled Sam’s fingers as he sniffed at the bottle. Sam took a different approach, remembering visits he’d had with his brother GIdeon, when they’d taken his Australian shepherd, Junie, out for a walk during the summer heat. Sam cupped his palm and poured a little water into it for Steve to lap up. That tickled; his tongue was rough against Sam’s palm; water dripped everywhere, but Sam poured out a little more, letting a little of it splash against his soiled muzzle and nose. Steve huffed and sneezed, sputtering and splashing Sam with the water. Sam hissed in disgust.

“Say it, don’t spray it, Steven.”

Steve gave him a wounded look, and Sam merely poured out a little more water, letting Steve drink it until it was gone.

The moon was still high. Steve growled and pushed past Sam, darting off toward the beach and the sounds of rolling waves.

“Shit,” Sam grunted. He shook his head and threw up his hands. “Really, Lord?”

*

Sam chased Steve for most of the night. Steve loved to run in this form. He chased birds, and chipmunks, and snakes - that freaked Sam out when he realized that’s what that was slithering through the brush, and he screamed bloody murder - but he didn’t take anything else down for the count. Once Steve was back out on the shore, he ran at the waves, growling and barking at them. Sam was tempted to record it on his phone just for posterity, and potential blackmail. Instead, he just watched him.

Massive. Furry. Naked as the day he was born. Uninhibited.

By the time Steve finally slowed down, it was nearly dawn. “Steve,” Sam called out to him. “I have to get back! I hope you’re coming with me.”

Steve whirled around at the sound of Sam’s voice and the hint of desperation in it. The moon wasn’t as high or as large, and most of the stars had dimmed. The tide began to roll out, and the air was still frigid enough for Sam to see his breath. He longed for his bed and the warmth of the blankets and tiny space heater, but he needed to make sure Steve was locked down tight for the rest of the night, too. “Please, Steve!”

Steve huffed and whined, lashing his tail. He loped up to Sam, and his posture was supplicating. Eager. Steve crouched down and butted his head into Sam’s sternum. He made whuffling sounds and continued to whine, sniffing at Sam’s hands. Sam chuckled and combed his cold, stiff fingers through the fur at the scruff of Steve’s neck.

“Wish I could tell you I could do this all day, but you and I both know I’d be lying,” Sam told him. Steve straightened up, then wove on his feet. He whimpered again, emitting a keening yelp. “Steve? STEVE?”

Steve collapsed in the sand, clawing at it as he began to change.

Sam reached for him, crouching down and pulling him in, rubbing his back. His fur began to recede, and his body jerked as his muscles contracted. Sam knew the change couldn’t be any more comfortable going than coming, and it was eerie, watching it deplete him and sap his strength. Steve’s skin slowly grew visible to Sam again, but his veins bulged and pulsed in stark relief along his chest, arms and neck. “Shit,” Sam realized. _Naked outside in January._ He shook himselfl out of his trance and shed his jacket, wrapping Steve in it.

“S-S-Sam? M’c-cold,” Steve chattered.

“Let’s get you inside. C’mon.”

It was nothing for Sam to carry him the whole way back to the house.

“Where are my underpants?”

“Hell if I know.”

*

 

Sam pulled Steve into the bathroom and ran the tub deep and steaming hot. He sat Steve down on the toilet lid and draped him in all of the towels while he waited for it to fill.

“It’s almost dawn,” Steve muttered miserably.

“I’ll manage. It’s almost bedtime,” Sam reminded him.

Steve’s eyes were glassy and bloodshot, but they were blue again. His nose was running a little as he warmed up, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand. He was still shivering, even as the bathroom filled with steam. “My mouth tastes gross… did I eat something tonight?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Sam… please tell me.”

“Welp. You ate a raccoon, Steven.”

“Oh, dear God…”

“At least it wasn’t the snake. I think I would’ve had a heart attack if you’d actually caught it.”

And Sam reached for a washcloth, dampening it in the rush of water from the tap. He got up and went to the sink, wringing it out before he daubed and wiped at Steve’s nose and chin. Steve glanced down in horror as he saw the dark brown streaks of blood staining the white terry cloth. “Oh, God…”

“It’s all right.”

“Sam… _fuck._ Fuck, fuck. This is why I didn’t want this. I didn’t want you to see this-”

“Steve. Are you kidding me right now?” Sam was aghast. “You’ve been dealing with this alone?”

“The change happened too fast,” Steve told him. “I didn’t have time to lock myself down.”

Sam felt the blood drain from his face. “What?”

“The restraints are in the bag. I’ve got a few different kinds. That keeps me from getting loose.”

“Steve.” Sam’s voice was hollow, and his throat closed up at the implications of what Steve was telling him. “You lock yourself down… like a dog?”

“Pretty much,” Steve said simply. Sam paused in cleaning his face and kissed the top of his tousled head. Steve leaned into it, closing his eyes. “It’s the only way I can guarantee that no one gets hurt.”

“You just ran loose. You were all right.”

“Because it’s remote! Because I took myself far enough out that I wouldn’t run into anyone _this time_ , Sam! What happens the next time if I hit traffic on the way? What if I wander off too far?”

“I won’t let that happen!”

“You can’t just babysit me, Sam!”

“I wasn’t! I was just looking out for you! I just wanted to put my mind to rest that you were safe! You’re worried about what will happen to someone else, Steve, but who’s going to worry about what happens to _you?_ Huh?” And Sam’s throat and chest squeezed at the thought that Steve might not care what happened to him as much as Sam did. “You’re so hung up on worrying about how I’ll feel about you changing, but you need to think about how I’ll _completely fucking lose it if anything happens to you,_ because I love you, you dumbass!” 

“You love me?”

“Yes.” And Sam gently cleaned the blood and grime out from under Steve’s now-blunt fingernails. “If I’m willing to ride in the trunk for a weekend road trip, love’s gotta have a lot to do with it, Steven Grant Rogers.”

“Yeah? Well, guess what, Sammy? I love you, too, ya big jerk. And maybe I wish you’d listen to me when I tell you I’m not myself when I change, huh? You should believe me when I tell you I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“Except that you’re not. ‘I got a little sand in my shoes. Oh, boo-hoo.’” Sam made eye-wiping motions and pouted for dramatic effect. Steve rolled his eyes, but he gave Sam an exhausted smile. 

“This part isn’t gonna get any better.”

“You let me figure that out.”

Sam helped Steve ease into the tub, and Steve looked up at him in surprise as Sam began to undress. But he made room for him to slide into the tub behind him, and he pulled Steve back against his chest and held onto him tightly, buoyed by the hot water. Sam coddled and spoiled him, slowly running the bar of soap over his skin and kissing him with quiet langor until they both grew pruney. By the time they rinsed off and staggered out of the tub, the first streaks of pink spread across the sky. Steve and Sam fumbled their way into boxers and t-shirts and climbed into bed. They fell asleep wrapped up in each other’s scent, listening to each other’s heartbeats and slow, even breathing.

*

They both stirred awake around three in the afternoon. Sam cracked one eye open at Steve, who was hovering over him, yawning. Steve’s hair was impressive, sticking up in tufts and peaks. Sam grinned up at him.

“Hey, Handsome. Let me buy you a drink?”

“Hmmm. Tom Collins, gin and tonic, or type O negative?”

Sam chuckled as Steve kissed him. “Speaking of which…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll get it. I’m gonna fix myself a grilled cheese. You can have breakfast in bed, though, okay?”

“Come back to bed when you finish.” Sam yawned again. He was hungry, and he could feel himself fading a little. Steve noticed his irises glowing scarlet, and he gave Sam’s chest a little pat.

“Hang out. Back in a flash.” Steve left the bed and retucked Sam’s blankets around him. He looked better than he had last night, but Sam still sensed a hectic energy and a wildness in him. They had a narrow window of time before Steve’s urges him again with the full moon. Round two.

Steve brought back Sam’s blood bag, and Sam drained it greedily and quickly. Steve watched him from the edge of the bed, his expression thoughtful.

“It’s not like feeding from a person, is it?”

“Nope.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not enough to just go out and hunt every night. It’s a rough way to live.”

“Yeah. Guess it is.”

“I remember a guy telling me once that he hated something about himself that he couldn’t help,” Sam mentioned.

“Shut up, Sam.”

“I’m just saying. This?” Sam brandished the mostly empty bag. “Can’t help this. Can’t do anything about it. It is what it is. If you need to run at night and howl at the moon, I’m not going to judge you. And _you_ shouldn’t judge you.”

“You don’t grow a tail, though, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. “I kind of like the tail. You make the tail work.”

Steve rolled his eyes, biting back a laugh. He picked up one of the pillows and popped Sam upside the head with. “You’re such a jerk.”

“I’m your jerk, though. Here. Put this away. I’m full.” He handed Steve the bag. 

Steve made his sandwich, and he returned to bed, snuggling against Sam’s sleep-warmed body and his caresses. 

At least this time when Sam woke to Steve crashing around the room, it was after a decent day’s sleep and on a full stomach.

Steve towered over him again, growling and stumbling about. He tripped over the small throw rug, and he impatiently kicked it across the room. Sam yawned, covering his mouth with his palm. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Sam crooned, nonplussed by this return to their previous problem. Steve knew him, though. This time, he woke up covered in Sam’s scent, remembering the recent feel of Sam’s touch. He roared again, but was brought up short by Sam excavating himself from the mountain of blankets.

“It’s cold out tonight,” Sam told him in an attempt to reason with him. He laid his palm against Steve’s chest, and this time, Steve didn’t shake him off, but he scrunched up his muzzle and leaned in, sniffing at Sam’s throat. Those whiskers tickled, but Sam restrained the laughter trying to bubble up into his throat. “And you just ate. Can I interest you in some quality time by the space heater?” 

Steve tossed his head and whined, letting his tail thump and lash the footboard of the bed frame. 

“I know you want out, Steve. What can I do to convince you to stay inside?”

“Grrrrrggggggghhhh…”

“Steve.” Sam used his Dad Voice.

He was met by another low, menacing growl.

“Steven. Grant.”

“GRRRRRRGGGGhhhhh…”

Sam rolled his eyes, reached up, and gave Steve’s pointed ear a savage tweak.

Steve yelped and whined, jerking back from Sam. He stumbled into the dresser and knocked the mirror askew, but Sam managed to right it before it could topple and shatter. 

“Steve. _Heel._ ”

Steve growled, still a sound of warning, but it was also a plea. Sam knew the urge was strong for Steve to give into the night’s call.

_But._

Sam noticed something. Steve’s boxers, straining at the seams, failed to hide his “condition.” He was fully erect. Impressively so. Sam could see the shadow of his sac hanging down through the leg of the thin cotton.

And Sam felt his gut twist with the possibilities. He reached for Steve again. Steve laid his ears back and whined, yipping at Sam. _Not the ears again._ Sam got the picture. But he laid his palm on Steve’s chest again, stroking it. Combing through the thick, soft, glossy fur. Sam loved how it felt, and he wanted to press himself into Steve’s warm bulk and loll in it again.

Steve huffed, whining again as Sam caressed him again, running his palm down over his chest, down his ribcage, stroking his abdomen. Those taut muscles jumped under Sam’s touch. Sam reached for the waistband of Steve’s boxers, figuring he wouldn’t mind, and he tugged them down. Steve rumbled low in his throat and butted his head against Sam.

“Oh, my.” Sam’s eyes flicked down to Steve’s cock. Yes, it grew to catch up to the rest of him, and it preened for Sam, twitching and presenting itself proudly for his inspection. Sam reached down and stroked the vein along the underside with his fingertip. It quivered, and Steve whined again. His tail wagged and thumped against the bedframe again. Steve shook his head and butted it against Sam, wanting more attention.

Sam fully intended to give it to him. 

“Who’s a good boy?” Sam crooned as he ran his hand up Steve’s length. His flesh felt firm, smooth and so hot in his gentle grip. “Who’s a good boy for me? Hm? Do you like that, baby?”

Steve leaned in and nuzzled Sam’s throat. Those whiskers brushed his skin, and he lapped at Sam’s neck as Sam ringed him in his loose fist.

“You like that,” Sam confirmed smugly. “I know how to keep you inside, baby. Said I was gonna take care of you, and I will.” Sam kept pumping that twitching cock, and he teased Steve’s nipple with the other hand, still slightly visible from the mass of fur covering his chest. He plucked at it, earning himself more whimpers and a soft yelp.

Sam took that as his cue. He slowly sank down to his knees, took Steve’s cock in both hands, and guided it into his waiting mouth. 

*

Somewhere within the pool of Steve’s consciousness, he felt Sam appealing to him. Holding onto him before he could slip away. Sam’s scent and touch telegraphed _safesecurewarmcaredfornodanger_ and Steve drifted on those emotions and sensations. He saw Sam through the strange, foggy, colorless vision that characterized his lycan senses. It was actually worse when he was inside; moonlight actually enhanced his vision, making it suitable for the hunt.

But all he saw was Sam. Those beautiful cheekbones, the noble line of his high forehead and the sweep of long lashes. That soft, wide mouth stretched around his aching flesh. He heard Sam humming with contentment, actually _felt it_. Steve felt Sam cradle his sac in his palm as he sucked him down as far as he could take him…

Good.

Lord.

*

 

Sam bobbed his head, taking Steve as far down his throat as he could manage. He inadvertently drooled his whole way down that quivering thickness, and it was heady. Powerful. Sam wanted to offer him comfort. A distraction.

Himself.

Sam wallowed there, just slowly, rhythmically taking him down. He clung to Steve’s thighs for balance, and he combed his fingers through it again, stroking the taut muscles and tendons. Steve’s hips canted forward in uneven jerks. He huffed and whined, and Sam felt a moment of triumph when one of those large, taloned hands covered his scalp.

Sam had his hand wrapped around the base of Steve’s cock, using it as a stopping point in the hopes that Steve wouldn’t throttle him with his length. He tasted salty, and he was leaking, dribbling shallow splashes of bitterness over Sam’s tongue. Ohhhhhh, but he didn’t mind.

Sam’s hum sounded like a low growl to Steve. Like _ownership._

Fire ripped through Steve’s veins at that sound. He clapped his palm around the back of Sam’s neck and growled a warning. Sam’s eyes snapped open - they’d drifted shut in bliss, he’d been so absorbed in what he was doing, in pleasing Steve - and he saw those glowing yellow eyes staring down at him. Narrowed. Intent. Chilling.

Sam lowered his head again, this time staring up at Steve as he took him in. The message was clear: If you want me to stop, make me stop. And while he did it, Sam eased his own boxers down. Sam reached behind himself and found his hole. Tense. Waiting.

He fingered it, pressing a digit inside. All while he continued his distraction. Steve canted his hips forward and stroked Sam’s hair. He gentled his grip on him, letting his palm cradle Sam’s nape. Sam moaned in contentment and kept working on Steve, and on himself. He needed to be ready for this. It had been a long time for Sam, and he wanted to make the best of it. 

Sam felt Steve’s attention shift to what he was doing. Sam spied his wallet on the edge of the dresser, and he reached over and swatted it down to the floor. He never released Steve’s cock from his mouth while he shook the wallet open. Another lube packet dropped out onto the carpet, and Sam tore it open, drizzling the slick over his fingers. Not much, but enough to get the job done. Sam pressed himself back against his fingers, trying to get depth and only managing “girth.” He felt the slight burn of his own intrusion and tried to stretch himself. He needed to be able to take him. Sam already wanted him, but he needed to be able to accept Steve.

Because Steve wouldn’t back down. He wanted to claim Steve. Ride him. Feel him succumb to him. Wanted Sam to _yield_.

He suckled Steve, working him mouth over him quickly, swiveling over that thick, tempting head while he worked himself open, until Steve finally stopped him with a growl that gave Sam chills up his spine. Steve gripped Sam’s upper arm and jerked him to his feet once his cock popped free from Sam’s mouth. Sam’s lips were flecked with spittle, gleaming and puffy, and Steve felt a renewed spike of desire.

He flung Sam back against the bed with a rough toss. Sam grunted with the impact, and his expression was dazed as Steve loomed over him. Steve grabbed Sam’s ankle and roughly flipped him over onto his belly.

Sam’s pulse skyrocketed.

Steve pulled him closer, and he felt Steve crawl onto the bed, making the mattress sag beneath them both. Steve’s hot breath bathed Sam’s back. He felt him snuffling against his flesh, whiskers brushing against it as he licked a path down his spine. Sam shuddered and groaned with the sensations, at the feel of Steve’s furry palm stroking over the curve of his ass, talons barely grazing him.

That _tongue._ It slipped between Sam’s cheeks and tasted him, while he was unguarded and vulnerable. Sam whined, hearing himself go breathy and desperate. Steve licked into him again, and this time, Sam felt the insistent press of that hot, slick muscle pushing at him, urging Sam to yield to him. That damp, cool nose was nuzzling at his crease, and Sam moaned at the sensations of Steve’s body hemming him in against the mattress, that hot breath sending little thrills over his skin, and now that tongue driving him out of his head.

“Please,” Sam panted. “Oh, please…”

Because Steve could be just as stubborn as Sam and enjoy the distraction he presented him with. Low, huffing growls interrupted the sounds of Steve’s lapping, flicking tongue, underscored by Sam’s moans for completion.

“Please,” Sam begged him. “Steve…”

Steve didn’t stop until Sam was a crying, writhing mess, gripping the pillows until the seams split. Only when Sam was hoarse, dick rigid and throbbing beneath him, did Steve finally have mercy on him. Sam felt himself tugged by the ankles again, and then by the hips. Steve levered him up, bending him in half. That warm palm caressed the curve of Sam’s ass again, and he felt Steve’s head buffeting against his entrance. Sam shuddered with want and anticipation. “Steve-”

His plea was cut short as Steve surged forward, filling him, and Sam keened loud and long. His muscles stretched and burned with the weight of Steve’s cock, punching the breath from Sam’s lungs. He felt so full… Steve was covering him, crowding him, one brawny arm looped around Sam’s middle, and his hot breath swirled over Sam’s nape. He licked at it in apology and just paused there. Waiting for Sam.

Wordlessly, Sam tilted his hips back. A silent acceptance. An invitation to move.

Steve’s grip around Sam tightened, and he growled, a low, purring sound. When Sam tipped his hips back again, Steve met him halfway. He rolled his hips slowly, letting Sam catch up, and Sam’s nodded, releasing a low sob.

Steve licked at him again, swirling over the place where Sam’s shoulder met his neck as he thrust into him. Sam moaned, fingers twisting in the covers, and he bowed his head down onto his forearms in an attempt to ground himself. Steve claimed him, rocking his hips. Sam felt the slap of Steve’s sac against his crease, and he pushed back against him, because he couldn’t stop himself from it. Steve was arched over him, curled over his body, thrusting, sliding in and out of Sam’s heat.

Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, he sensed Steve. He knew Steve was experiencing this as a bystander, from what he’d explained before, but Sam knew he was listening… he had to be feeling this. 

“I love you,” Sam rasped. “You’re mine.”

He knew the words sounded broken and shaky, but Sam didn’t care. Steve’s palm caressed Sam’s ribcage. His teeth grazed his shoulder, and he lapped at Sam’s ear, tasting the shell. Sam leaned into it, groaning at the sensations. So many parts of him were in contact with Steve’s fur and hard muscles, while that cock pulsed inside him, slick and deep. 

Sam didn’t know how long they fucked. To his credit, Sam had stamina. His vampirism gave him a strength and resilience; even if he couldn’t go _all_ night, he’d come damned close. When Sam reached down to stroke himself, his hand met Steve’s, and he released another wordless cry, because Steve’s grip was rough and fumbling but _perfect_. Sam’s dick was a violent purple, gleaming and slick with precum and the remnant of the lube. Steve fucked into him in time with the pumps of his hand. Sam began to see colors. His throat was hoarse from crying out, and Steve kept brushing over his prostate…

Steve’s grip on Sam slowed while his hips picked up the pace. He was so close, Sam knew…

“Fuck me,” Sam ordered him. “Fuck me nice and hard, baby. I’ll take care of you. I’m gonna take such good care of you, Steve. That’s it… that’s it…”

Steve took that as a challenge. He growled and sped up, and he took Sam back within his grip. WIthin minutes, Sam felt himself cramp and pulse, crying out as his climax began to burn at the base of his spine and work its way down. “JESUS! OH, GOD! STEVE!” Steve slammed into him faster, harder, pitching Sam over the edge. Sam came squirming and twitching in Steve’s fist, shooting stripes of come across the blankets and spattering his own chest with some. The excess leaked over Steve’s fist. Steve continued to pump him as he thrust.

“Steve… I can’t… _shit_!”

Steve reared back, leaning upright and snapping his hips forward, hands locked around Sam’s hips as he pulled him back onto his greedy dick. Steve growled, letting the sound grow into a roar of triumph as he came, warming and drenching Sam’s insides. His body arched, curling around Sam again, and Sam was stunned by the sudden punch of Steve’s teeth sinking into his neck. Sam cried out in a combination of pain and satisfaction.

Sam couldn’t support himself on his hands and knees anymore. He sank down to the mattress, spent. Steve collapsed against him, sliding off of him so that Sam wouldn’t have to take his weight. They both lay panting and boneless, soaked in sweat.

Before Sam could get his bearings, he heard Steve. Just a soft, low whine as he started to shift back. Sam huffed as he rolled over to watch. Steve’s face was straining with the effort, muzzle contracting back to the firm jaw and full, deep pink lips. His body shrank down, losing girth and mass, fur giving way to skin again, and finally, Steve lay there before Sam, limp, his eyes beseeching him.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Please. Please, hold me?”

Sam gathered him close and held onto him. Steve was shivering, and Sam rubbed his arms and back to warm him back up. Sam gathered up the blankets, wrestling them around the two of them. Steve burrowed his face into Sam’s neck, but then he leaned up for a moment.

“Sam… I _bit_ you.”

“Just a little nibble.”

“Sam! I broke the skin!”

“That’s why we’ve got a first aid kit,” Sam assured him. “Even have Bugs Bunny band-aids in there. You can put on whichever one you want.”

“Sam. I _bit_ you.”

“This isn’t the time to freak out.” Sam yawned and hummed in satisfaction. He was sore and well-used. Steve’s scent was all over him, and Steve was clinging to him, voice tinged worry. Sam kissed his forehead. “This is the time to get some sleep. It’s almost dawn.”

“Good grief…”

“You stayed inside tonight,” Sam boasted.

“Was that the goal?” Steve demanded. “Sam. You should have gotten the restraints.”

“Like hell. Didn’t need ‘em.”

“I could have hurt you again!”

“You didn’t hurt me before. What’s this ‘again’ stuff? I knew what I was doing.” (Even though he hadn’t.)

“Sam… I wasn’t myself.”

“Steve. Steve. Yes, you were. That was all you.”

“Sam-”

“Listen to me. That was you in there, in the driver’s seat. I know who was with me all night.” Sam nuzzled him and dropped little kisses down the line of his temple, down his cheek. Their limbs tangled together, and Sam’s caresses were making Steve drowsy. “You’re not going to convince me that this was a bad idea.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

“That’s one hell of a hickey, though, Sammy.”

“It’s not the end of the world. I’d love to continue this conversation when my eyeballs don’t feel like they could roll out of my head and onto the floor.”

Steve settled against him and clung to him, breathing him in. Sam’s skin was so soft. Holding him felt so right. Steve remembered that night on the couch. Remembered Sam’s desperation and panic.

“Don’t overthink it, Steve.”

“I’ll try.”

“Get some shuteye.”

“Don’t steal all the blankets this time.”

Sam smiled in the dark and stroked Steve’s hair until he heard Steve’s breathing change and felt his own hand drop.

*

“I’m ready for beach weather,” Kitty complained as she counted the petty cash in the register.

“You can’t even go out in beach weather,” Jubilee countered. “I hate January so much.”

Sam smiled slowly to himself from the DJ booth.

“What’s that look for?” Clint demanded.

“Nothing.” Sam refused to admit to him that he hadn’t tried to hide a hickey since he was in _high school_. Yet here he was, a grown ass man, wearing a turtleneck to cover up the previous night’s discretions.

“Okay. That smile doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’” Clint glanced around the bar and then leaned in close. “Did you get laid this weekend?”

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know.”

“No. He wouldn’t,” Jubilee called out. “He wouldn’t, because that means we’d have to hear about it, too, and my innocent young ears couldn’t handle that, Sam.”

“You’re a hundred and three years old,” Kitty argued. “There’s nothing those ears of yours ain’t heard, girlie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. It was supposed to be four chapters. Actually, initially it was only going to be one.
> 
> Yeah. The smut got out of hand. Once again, the author is a horrible person, and good night.


End file.
